A thread
is what's left of the unraveled tapestry. Torn apart from weather and where.
The intricate design that weaved beauty from pain
fell twisted from lack of priority and an excess of rain.
Hold the thread before it too slips through hands
and falls on the carpet again to blend in.
Such is, the arcane reasons
the thread is all that's left.
Shall it be used with the needle of words,
to sew back this torn heart?
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